DURING my limited travels in towns and cities when I was still the tourism officer of Silay, I always visited the cemeteries, especially the old cemeteries.
There are things in the cemeteries that attract me. I found out later that there are also people who simply love to tour cemeteries.
What fascinates me in the land of the dead is the landscape that tells of the culture of the villagers and the vision of the mayor that runs the local government unit. I am not playing Indiana Jones, but I take interest in burial chambers, catacombs, crypts, graves, mausoleums, sepulchers, and vaults.
In my hometown Silay, the mausoleums here in the church cemetery reveal the architectural design in a particular decade. Those who died at the turn of the century have Spanish inscriptions in their tombstones. The members of the family have choreographed the sepulchers starting from the grandparents up to the parents. For them, the recesses are parts of the family legacy. The progeny have already identified their own hollows.
The rich and the famous are in the millionaires’ row. Those who died poor have their place beneath the starry skies (not even). They were squatters in life, and they were also made to squat in death. Only very few public cemeteries have rooms for rent. Some towns and cities go “high-rise” and take pride in the leaning 10-story apartments for those who died with their liabilities and liabilities (no assets).
Look at the entrances of the cemeteries. In old cemeteries we could still smell the influence of the Spaniards, “Cementerio Municipal.” The concrete cross reminds us how the Spaniards torched our faith. Modern cemeteries have gates resembling entrances to first-class subdivisions. Some old cemeteries do not have the grilles anymore. The bars were taken by iron scrap hunters and they are now in junk shops.
In some cemeteries, there are tenants residing on top of the tombs even inside the mausoleums. For them, living with the dead becomes a habit. The cemetery dwellers have organized their own associations. Inside the compound, there are sari-sari stores, barber shops, and eateries. The residents there are registered voters and they vote during the local and national elections. This is one subject not taken up in Bacolod during the Asean conference.
Are the dead voting? We don’t really know because political parties are sending their men to do census activities. SWS and Pulse Asia should consider having an opinion survey to those who passed away but still exist as ghost voters. When I attended a funeral rites in one of the cemeteries, the attendant of the funeral parlor has to provide a long ladder because the compartment is located on the seventh floor of the apartment.
Cemetery grave diggers told me haunting stories. “Inggoy” (not his real nickname) told me that once (middle of the night) he heard a moaning sound inside an abandoned niche. He was almost sure it was a ghost of a crying lady. He played James Bond to spy on the event and he was shocked by what he discovered. He saw not one but two, male and female… but not ghosts.
“Diego” told me that in his cemetery a rich Chinese businessman was buried at 11 o’clock in the morning by his family. At 11 in the evening, another family took the coffin and brought it out of the cemetery. It created a scandal the following day. The watchman was in hot water. He was removed as casual worker. It was a case whose ownership of the corpse was unknown, “a love triangle in life and death.”
“Bartolome” had his own share. A “Juan de la Cruz Jr.” was buried on that particular day. In the next week, a “Juan de la Cruz Jr.” appeared and questioned the employee at the cemetery office who buried him because the manager of his office in Manila received a note from the insurance company of “Juan de la Cruz Jr.”. The family would want to claim the insurance benefits.
A cemetery tour is exciting. I noted stories of a hidden wealth under the tomb, of ghosts that quarrel, of illicit affair on top of the vault, of shabu session, of drinking spree, of gambling tournament… and even torture. There were voices heard from afar… voices asking for justice, voices asking for just pay, and voices demanding for a budget for the rehabilitation of the cemeteries. These are the voices from the twilight zone.